


alone with the moon

by buddhaghost



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Fights, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Reckless Behavior, Slice of Life, Some angst, just two friends doing some dumb stuff, mentioned food insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:02:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26394607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buddhaghost/pseuds/buddhaghost
Summary: For as long as he and John B have known each other, they’ve always been getting into trouble for stupid shit, normally for going through with one of JJ’s ideas. But for all the risks they’ve taken and close calls they’ve had, John B rarely ever says no. And that’s why JJ loves him. Because while JJ knows he’s reckless and wild and has been told on multiple occasions that he has no regard for his own wellbeing, John B is good at appearing to have a bit more of a moral compass. He likes to sit back and think things through, looking to anyone else like a considerate, thoughtful planner. But JJ knows him, and knows it’s a fucking act, and that’s why he and John B are so perfect. Because they both live like today might be their last.___Or; JJ and John B decide to steal some beer from a kook party.
Relationships: JJ & John B. Routledge
Comments: 16
Kudos: 37





	alone with the moon

**Author's Note:**

> This has no real plot, just something that was in my head and was fun to write :)

Kook parties were loud. Sound travels faster over water, something that anyone who grew up around the ocean knows, and the thrumming bass echoing across the marsh, making the soundtrack of summer nights. There’s laughter, too, and shouting, intermingled with the music, making every damn night sound like a bad teen movie.

Kook parties were also, almost always, unbelievably stacked with all sorts of drinks. They would start with the mid stuff; bubbly seltzers and tepid beer, and as the sky got darker the drinks got stronger, turning to fruity mixed drinks and energy shots mixed with vodka. And allegedly, if you stayed _really_ late, they would break out the good stuff; crack open the wine cellar, wash down a line of coke with fifty-year old scotch.

But most of all, Kook parties, by definition, were _no pogues allowed_. Once high school rolled around and the island population got split into kook academy and regular old public school, and the split between the cut and figure eight became even more evident, it was an unspoken rule that pogues, not under any circumstances, were welcome at a kook house party. Just being on their side of the island was risking it.

JJ knows this, of course. The notion that he is a pogue and therefore worthless in the eye of society is one that runs through his veins, one that he is reminded of every damn day when his dad so much as looks at him or some shop owner keeps a sharp eye on him or his teachers shake their heads in disappointment as he misses yet _another_ assignment. He is a pogue and there is absolutely no reason why he should be at a kook party, none, zip, zero.

Except, of course, for the aforementioned treasure; booze, and lots of it. Free, unsupervised, just sitting there, waiting for someone to take advantage of it and run. It’s the booze, the allure of free drinks, and after a day out in the sun on the HMS Pogue and not a drip left to drink, well, this opportunity was too good to pass up.

So yes, booze is the reason that JJ is currently crouched on the bow of the HMS, giving low commands to John B while they survey the situation before them. And yes, maybe he’s still a little drunk, but the sounds of kooks partying got his blood singing like a shark in the water who knows his next meal is close by. “A little closer, just a bit more, almost there…” he leans out, arms stretched for the edge of the dock as John B slowly inches closer. “Got it!” He hisses, using the momentum to pull the boat up to the dock. John B makes a noise of victory, hushed, as if anyone would be able to hear them over the screams of the partygoers and blasting music.

“You know, I probably wouldn’t hate it as much if they played literally _anything_ else,” JJ says conversationally as he ties up to the dock. “This shit is just embarrassing. Whoever’s the DJ is either an idiot or blacked out somewhere.”

John B shrugs, shaking his head. “I don’t even know this song.”

JJ stops and turns to his friend, unimpressed. “God, I forgot you lived under a freaking rock sometimes.”

John B spreads his arms out, as if asking for forgiveness. “You just said this song sucks! I’ve just been living a fuller life without its presence.”

JJ rolls his eyes and grabs the nearest thing – an empty can, crushed – and hurls it at his friend. John B ducks, and the thing lands in the dark water with a splash.

John B glares. “At least pretend you care about the environment,” he says as he leans over to fish it out.

JJ laughs. “Starting to sound like Kie right there, Johnny boy! Watch out, she’ll have ya braiding bracelets out of sea trash next.”

John B just rolls his eyes, turning to look up at the house they’ve just docked up to, and JJ does the same. It’s stupid big, like all houses in figure eight, and lit up like a goddam birthday cake. Did whoever lives here actually take the time to wind Christmas lights around seemingly every exterior surface, or did the house come like that? Whatever the answer, it sure did help light up the place, shining bright enough that the reflection dances in the water around them. As JJ watches, he can see figures crowding around, laughing and jumping into the pool, because of course there was a pool, heaven forbid they swim in the tainted ocean.

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” John B asks from where he’s slumped over the captain’s seat.

JJ turns and grabs the other boy, shaking him slightly. “Because, JB, the reward far outweighs the risk! We slip in, grab as much as we can carry, haul ass back here and we’re gone before anyone’s even noticed! Not like they’re going to miss a couple of beers, anyways,” JJ adds, watching as someone stumbles and falls. “Honestly, we’re probably doing them a favor by cutting them off. This is a humanitarian _mission_ , man! We have our orders!”

John B rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, and JJ steps back, pleased. For as long as he and John B have known each other, they’ve always been getting into trouble for stupid shit, normally for going through with one of JJ’s ideas. But for all the risks they’ve taken and close calls they’ve had, John B rarely ever says no. And that’s why JJ loves him. Because while JJ knows he’s reckless and wild and has been told on multiple occasions that he has no regard for his own wellbeing, John B is good at appearing to have a bit more of a moral compass. He likes to sit back and think things through, looking to anyone else like a considerate, thoughtful planner. But JJ knows him, and knows it’s a fucking act, and that’s why he and John B are so perfect. Because they both live like today might be their last.

The dock is obviously new, probably rebuilt from last month’s hurricane, and it doesn’t make a sound as JJ and John B creep down it. They’re hunched over, whispering dumb shit back and forth to each other, surprisingly coordinated for having spent all day drinking on a boat. There’s no real reason for such stealth endeavors, because the kooks are careless. Naïve. Would never in a million years suspect someone could be creeping up their dock right now, so nobody so much as glances their way when JJ and John B step off the dock onto the lawn, damp with dew already. Everyone is too busy watching something happening around the pool, and it takes JJ a moment to realize what; someone’s on the roof, three stories up, looking like they’re about to jump. 

“Jesus, these people are dumb as hell,” John B remarks, eyes also trained on the roof. The pool can’t be more than ten feet at its deepest; hopefully, whoever is planning the jump knows where to land. It’s either that or a few partiers get crushed.

The two exchange glances. JJ raises his hand to his mouth, miming a walkie talkie. “I’ve got eyes on the goods, over.” There’s a table – well, actually, it looks like a bar, and why is JJ not surprised that kooks have _outdoor bars_ in their own homes – stacked with red solo cups and cans of all sorts.

John B brings his hand to his mouth as well. “Copy that. Time to move in, over.”

The two waste no time, walking as casually as they can manage to the bar. Most of the cans on top of it are empties, but below, there’s plenty for the pickings. They crouch down, hidden from sight by the bar itself, and start grabbing as much as they can.

“Oh, sweet, this is the nice shit!” JJ crows.

“Shit, how are we going to carry all of this?” John B asks as JJ starts shoving cans into his pockets. Answering his own question, John B pulls his shirt off and begins putting cans in it to carry like a make-shift sack. Meanwhile, just a few feet away, the party goers take no notice, too busy screaming their approval as the person on the roof takes a running start, whooping as he jumps and lands with a tremendous splash.

“That’s gotta hurt,” JJ says as he pops his head out from behind the bar, wincing sympathetically.

“Get down,” John B hisses, pulling JJ roughly back down. “Last thing we need right now is to be seen.” He gestures down at his now-full shirt. “Think we got enough?”

JJ nods. In all honesty, they didn’t even need _any_ of this. But there’s something so enticing about stealing from kooks. “We’re like Robin Hood!” JJ suddenly says, with the same level of awe in which one might announce the winning lottery number. “Stealing from the rich to give back to the poor!”

John B pushes his hair out of his eyes, grinning. “But in this case, the poor is just us.”

“Damn straight,” JJ says, grabbing one last beer before pointing back to the dock. “And now it’s time for Robin Hood and Little Foot to make their daring escape.”

“Wait, which one of us is Little Foot?”

“You, obviously.”

“What, why? No, you’re delusional. I’m obviously Robin Hood.”

“Not a chance. Robin Hood doesn’t argue with orders, and you’re arguing with mine. So that makes you Little Foot.”

“Dude, the whole point of Robin Hood was, like, that he didn’t follow orders.”

JJ waves his hand. “You know what, lets discuss this once we’re back on the boat.” John B nods in agreement, and the two head back the way they came.

JJ’s shorts sag with the amount of beer he’d shoved into the pockets, and he’s silently thankful that he wore cargo shorts today rather than a bathing suit. John B seems to be struggling with keeping cans from falling out of his make-shift sack. He grunts, moving to rearrange his arms a bit, and JJ opens his mouth to warn him about a can about to fall, when three figures suddenly approach, grabbing the bandana that John B has tied around his neck as usual and yanking backwards.

John B cries out in surprise, choking on the force of the hand yanking his bandana, and he loses his footing and hits the ground, hard.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” A voice says, and JJ’s heart sinks when he realizes who it is. Rafe Cameron, flanked by whoever his goons of the hour are. They’re standing over John B, who is coughing but moving to push himself back up.

“Oh, fuck,” JJ says, and immediately jumps into action, swinging at Rafe like a street boxer. Rafe yelps, JJ notes with satisfaction, and JJ gets in a solid two hits, swinging wildly, before Rafe comes back to himself and throws a punch.

Out of the corner of his eye, JJ sees John B has gotten to his feet and full-body slams into one of Rafe’s cronies, a dude dressed in a terrible checkered polo. Honestly, sometimes JJ thinks these guys are _asking_ to get their ass beat, wearing shit like that.

He’s distracted from Terrible Polo’s outfit choices as Rafe lands a lucky hit, snapping JJ’s head to the side. It’s not half-bad, JJ notes in a dark part of his mind, which is intimately familiar with hits and what constitutes as a good one.

But he’s not here to get beat on by Rafe; he’s here to steal some booze and head out, ninja style. He lets out a battle cry and throws himself at the other boy with a renewed vigor.

The fight is scrappy and messy and doesn’t end until the third guy has JJ’s arms pinned behind his back. John B is kneeling on top of Terrible Polo kid, but jumps to his feet when he spots JJ, who is valiantly trying to wriggle away from Dumb and Dumber. The beer they’d been appropriating, the only reason they’d even thought to sneak into this party, is scattered all over the lawn, the shirt John B had been using to carry them discarded as well.

“C’mon, Rafe,” John B is saying. “Let him go.”

JJ laughs. His face, his entire body is smarting from where Rafe and his friends were able to get lucky hits in, but; “he knows the only way he can beat me is if my arms are pinned behind my back.” Then he looks at Rafe. “Little does he know, though, that I can beat him _with_ my hands tied behind my back.” He jumps, using the leverage of the kid holding his arms, kicking out and striking Rafe in the chest with his foot. It isn’t a hard kick by any means, JJ’s no goddam martial artist, it probably felt more like a love-tap, but the point is made.

Rafe’s face twists, just as JJ had hoped it would, and he makes to lunge forward, but is stopped by a new voice. Someone from the party must’ve noticed the beat-down going on in the shadows by the dock.

“Rafe, what the fuck?” Sarah Cameron storms forwards, eyes sparking. JJ and John B exchange a glance before JJ jerks again against his captor, this time succeeding in freeing himself, and the two book it back towards the boat.

“I hope the beer’s worth it!” Sarah calls after them sarcastically, before verbally berating her brother. JJ almost wishes he could stay and listen to her ridicule him, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth or whatever that saying is, especially when in this case, the gift horse is Sarah saving them from having to evade Rafe on their own.

Look a gift horse in the mouth? That sounds wrong. JJ turns to John B as they leap into the HMS Pogue, intent on asking what he thinks the right saying is, but changes tactics when he realizes that Rafe has pursued them down the dock, despite Sarah’s protests.

“Go, go, go,” he chants to John B as he frantically undoes the knot securing them to the dock. Hastily, JJ pushes off, getting distance between the boat and the dock as John B rushes around to the engine, ripping the cord.

True to form, the HMS Pogue splutters once, twice before kicking to life. JJ whoops and John B immediately turns to the wheel, steering them out of there.

“Go drown with your dad!” Rafe yells after them, coming to a stop at the edge of the dock. Not very creative, JJ notes, probably would give him a 5 out of 10 for it. Still, he takes one of the full beer cans he’d smuggled in his pocket and rears back, chucking it at Rafe with everything in hm as John B navigates the HMS Pogue away from the dock. JJ watches in satisfaction as it hits his target dead-on, Rafe stumbling back and bringing his hand up to clutch his head. JJ flips off the cronies, who are staring after the receding boat.

“Man, fuck those guys,” JJ says, turning to settle comfortably next to John B and ignoring the half-assed threats that Rafe is hurling at them, voice getting fainter as they peel off. He pulls another can out of his pocket, offers it to John B, who takes it and cracks it with a small grin.

“Cheers,” he says, and holds his can up. JJ enthusiastically taps his against it before gulping down a few sips.

They sit in silence for a bit. JJ brings a hand up and rubs it over his jaw, more annoyed than anything that Rafe managed to land a hit there, and presses a cold can to his side. His ribs are still tender from a few nights ago, when his general existence seemed to bother his dad a bit more than usual, and they did not appreciate this past interaction with Rafe and his goons.

JJ spares a glance at John B, who is staring moodily forwards, the good mood of the evening killed. He’s got one hand on the wheel and the other on his beer. Realistically, it’s probably not smart to be navigating a boat at night while drinking, but JJ’s not feeling like he wants to be the one of the two who displays evidence of a moral conscience tonight.

John B is shirtless, having taken it off to create the sack to hold the beer. Honestly, JJ doesn’t particularly mourn the loss of another headache-inducing patterned shirt, but he knows that, like him, John B isn’t swimming in dough, that losing a shirt, as hideous as it may be, isn’t ideal.

John B still hasn’t said anything, and JJ is starting to worry that he’s regretting the whole mission or blaming JJ for their losses. But then his friend blinks and turns to JJ, eyes scanning him. “Are you alright?” He’s focused on where JJ has the can under his shirt, pressed against his ribs.

JJ scoffs. “Please, as if those idiots even know how to throw a proper punch.” John B huffs a laugh. He doesn’t press JJ, but he also doesn’t look entirely convinced.

Not wanting for this to turn into a ‘let’s be concerned about JJ’s wellbeing’ type of night, he quickly says, “How about you? Are you alright?” He’s pretty sure that apart from when John B had been yanked to the ground via bandana, the other boy had gotten away relatively unscathed, save for some grass stains. But JJ’s more focused on, well, how _skinny_ John B looks.

JJ knows John B, knows he can be notoriously carless when it comes to his own wellbeing. And with Big John being gone, which is common knowledge throughout the island at this point, JJ knows that John B probably isn’t taking care of himself in the times when he or Kiara or Pope aren’t around to make sure he does.

Basically, JJ can’t be certain that John B is eating enough when he’s alone.

His friend is oblivious to JJ’s concern, waving him off. “Like you said, they don’t know how to make a hit count.”

JJ laughs and kicks his feet up, only for John B to shove them back down. If he didn’t want this to turn into a ‘concerned about JJ’s wellbeing type of night’, he wasn’t going to make it into a ‘concerned about John B’s wellbeing’ one. “Where to now, captain?” He asks. The night is young, moon full and stars shining, and they’ve got beer, gas in the tank, and zero parental figures who might be concerned with their whereabouts. “The world is our oyster.”

John B snorts, finishing his beer with a final chug before tossing it to the ground. “Just an average night for Robin Hood and Little Foot,” he jokes.

JJ sits up quickly, ignoring is ribs as he does. “For the record, we never did settle that debate,” he points out.

“Well, since I was the one who ended up on top in my fight, I’d say I’m Robin Hood –”

“Yeah, cause you were only fighting one dude! I had _two_ , therefore, I’m Robin Hood.”

“Well, I saved you,” John B tries to argue.

“Hell no! If it wasn’t for Sarah, we’d both probably still be there right now.”

“So are you saying…” John B says slowly, “that Sarah is Robin Hood?”

JJ’s quiet for a moment, and then they’re both laughing, the sound echoing across the water as they bounce across the waves.

**Author's Note:**

> For some reason I seem incapable of writing these two in any situation without weaving in the underlying ‘big john is gone’ issue. 
> 
> please feel free to leave a kudo or a comment if you enjoyed!:)


End file.
